


Five Times Ser Landry Challenged The Warden To A Duel (And One Time He Didn’t)

by Charamei



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Comedy, Gen, gratuitous abuse of sleep spells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-30 01:47:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16755535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charamei/pseuds/Charamei
Summary: Honour demands that Ser Landry duel the Warden. The Warden has more important things to do than duel Ser Landry.





	Five Times Ser Landry Challenged The Warden To A Duel (And One Time He Didn’t)

Red hair, oversized ears, a perpetually worried expression... travel-worn Circle robe or no, Landry would have recognised the elf anywhere. And that 'Templar' with him was nothing of the sort. Had the Wardens sunk so low as to steal the clothing of the Maker's servants, as well as betraying their king?

Honour demanded retribution. The elf listened carefully and earnestly to his grievances, attempted in a soft-spoken, gentle way to change his mind, and then used magic to put him to sleep.

He awoke an hour later, feeling refreshed and at peace with the world in that way one only is after a really good nap, and immediately set about finding out where the ginger bastard had gone. Skipping out on a duel was a coward's game.

/\/\/\

Once he'd heard that the Wardens were helping the city guard, tracking them was a simple matter of following the trail of slumbering bandits through Denerim's streets. The elf was rather fond of his little sleepytime trick, it seemed – well, more fool him. Landry would not be caught out again. This time, he had brought backup; even the most powerful mage had a limit to how many people they could affect at once.

If the elf had such a limit, it was much higher than four. He awoke two hours later feeling better than ever.

/\/\/\

"You again?" The 'Templar' bore a striking resemblance to good King Cailan, but Landry would not allow that to distract him. The elf was around somewhere, and wherever he was hiding, he would not get the drop on Landry a third time. A few gallons of tea were a wonderful thing for ensuring wakefulness.

"If you're worried about Alim knocking you out again, he's... indisposed," the 'Templar' said, with a shifty glance towards a nearby tree. "Well, you know what it's like finding a privy on the road. By the way, you wouldn't happen to have seen a Brother Genitivi, would you? We think he came this way, but I wouldn't mind a second opinion, to be honest with you. There was something fishy about that servant of his."

"I demand," Landry began, but the 'Templar' interrupted him.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Honour and glory and satisfaction and all that. Well, I demand a comfy bed and an end to the Blight, but – oh, that's right. Your friend Loghain destroyed any hope of me getting either of those in the near future."

"Parshaara," the Qunari mercenary they'd picked up suddenly rumbled. "This man is a fool and a nuisance. Kill him and be done with it."

"Now, Sten, you know how our fearless leader feels about killing things that can talk back."

The Qunari muttered something in his own language which was, Landry felt, probably not very complimentary towards said fearless leader.

"I will not be put off again," he told the false Templar. "You will duel me, ser! And no more of this trickery with sleep spells!"

"Oh, well," the 'Templar' said, as the elf emerged from the bushes, "I suppose we can accommodate that, yes?"

"I imagine we can," the elf said, and shrugged apologetically at Landry. "I'm sorry. You did specify no sleep spells."

Landry tried to open his mouth to demand an explanation, but with the forcefield enveloping him so neatly, he could not move to do it... or anything else, for that matter.

The Wardens and their followers sauntered off, and by the time he could move again they had taken some unexpected turnings and covered their trail. He went back to Denerim to lick his wounds and await their return.

/\/\/\

Even Ser Landry would admit that it was uncharitable and rude to duel somebody who had just saved him from being mugged.

The number of people the elf could put to sleep at once was somewhat over ten, it turned out. The bandits really hadn't stood a chance.

/\/\/\

"This really is getting quite silly," the elf said. "May we pass, please? We've already been attacked once today."

"Can't go getting attacked twice on one route," the other one agreed, and Landry once again marvelled at the resemblance the bastard Alistair bore to his father. At least he'd finally dispensed with the Templar disguise, although... was that Cailan's armour? The gall! "Actually, now I come to think of it, we never do get attacked more than once on one route. That's a bit weird, isn't it?"

"For a fearsome group such as ours?" The other elf – the blond one – laughed. "I imagine we intimidate them. Or perhaps they are too busy marvelling at our beauty."

"I don't think anybody's marvelling at my beauty when I've been on the road for a month."

"You'd be surprised," the Chantry sister put in. Landry had never heard her speak before; the discovery that she was Orlesian added a whole new dimension to the Wardens' betrayal of King Cailan. "You can be quite rugged and handsome when you have not slept for days, no?"

"Oh, and the stubble," the blond elf put in. "I do like a good bit of stubble. I would grow it myself if I could, but, alas...!"

Did they truly see him as such a small threat that they were prepared to bicker in front of him? Landry tightened his grip on his sword. They had long since proven that they had no honour – perhaps he should run the bastard prince through now, before any of them could react. Even if they had not been on their way to seize control of Ferelden, the traitor bastard daring to wear Cailan's armour was an insult that must be avenged.

He became aware that the red-headed elf was smiling at him in that same gentle, apologetic way that he always did right before putting Landry to sleep.

"I suppose you still want to fight us," he said.

At first his soft voice was nearly drowned out by the banter taking place behind him, and yet as soon as he began to speak, everyone else stopped. Landry knew few leaders who could achieve that.

Truth be told, the elf's strange, quiet charisma had worked on him, too. It seemed nearly impossible to conceive of this funny-looking, gentle elf, who went out of his way to avoid a fight, being involved in a Warden plot to murder King Cailan and put their own puppet on the throne – but there the bastard prince was, in his murdered brother's armour and on the way to a Landsmeet. How many others had the elf's little act fooled?

(Was it an act? Or perhaps something more sinister? Landry had heard tales of the dark magics that lived among the Wardens' ranks, away from Chantry supervision.)

Whatever it was, it would end here. He drew his sword, and at his signal half a dozen Templars sprang from their hiding places.

Half an hour later, he awoke groggy and disoriented. Sleep powder! The bloody Orlesian -!

/\/\/\

Denerim burned.

Amid the screams, the cracking of bone and the crumbling of buildings, with the flames boiling his flesh inside his armour, Landry did what he could, lent his sword-arm to the fight.

He’d been wrong. Teyrn Loghain himself had joined the Wardens’ cause, in the end. The elf’s soft voice and gentle smile really did work miracles.

There, on the other side of the market – a flash of magic and a glimpse of red hair. Landry, knowing what he had to do – what honour demanded he do – changed tack and began to fight his way towards them.

The elf wore Warden colours, now. As Landry burst through a barricade, scattering burning wood across the path, he turned, stared, and said, “ _Now?_ ”

“Ser Landry?” That was Teyrn – no, not any more, Warden now - Loghain, sounding surprised. “You do realise we’re all on the same side now?”

“Of course,” Landry said. “That is why honour demands that I issue an immediate apology to Master Surana for my conduct.”

“Now,” Surana repeated.

Battle did not suit him. He seemed twitchy, anxious in a way Landry had never noticed before. His eyes seemed to be trying to follow every flicker of fire at once.

“Of course, ser,” Landry said. “I must issue my most heartfelt –“

By the time he woke up, the battle was over.

There was a note left by his pillow. He opened it, and read:

_You wouldn’t have won. Trust me. – L. Mac Tir_.

Probably not. But at least he might have made it to the end of a blighted _sentence_.


End file.
